Megan Mayhew Bergman's fascination with rural life, laid out in her debut collection, "Birds of a Lesser Paradise," continues with her short story "Phoenix," published by Ploughshares' new e-book imprint. In the story, set on a Vermont goat cheese farm, Bergman swiftly tosses out the notion of farm life as being somehow simpler than urban living.

The itinerant title character works as a farmhand and much-needed buffer between the farm's owners, the aggressive Pete and his miserable but ever-optimistic wife, Willow. At night, Willow often appears ghostlike in Phoenix's bathroom in a vintage nightgown, clutching her framed wedding photo, seeking a friendship that Phoenix won't give her.

A thunderclap of violence eventually breaks apart this fragile arrangement, but Phoenix takes the opportunity to move on, to find somewhere she can really belong or, at least, to keep wandering through different lives.

Pulitzer Prize-winning author Deborah Blum writes a breathtaking portrait of a criminal mind with "Angel Killer," about Albert Fish, who was executed for murder and cannibalism in 1936. Fish, dubbed the Gray Man, was described by many as harmless looking and forgettable. Wandering New York, Fish preyed on poor children, luring them to abandoned buildings and alleyways and, in one case, conning parents with his "little old man" persona in order to kidnap their daughter.

Blum shows us how Fish's mercurial mind complicated the work of his defense team, who failed to prove he had been insane at the time of his crimes. Fish convinced many, including the staff of Bellevue Hospital, that he was not a threat to anyone, then calmly admitted to the police that he had killed and eaten several children. The day of his execution, when asked if he had any last words, Fish confounded everyone one last time, replying, "I don't even know why I'm here."

Pushing the boundaries of the digital reading experience is the new serialized novel "The Silent History," which can be purchased in segments after downloading a free app (currently available for iPhone and iPad). Set in the near future, it tells of a mysterious epidemic of mute children. The book comprises two sections, "Testimonials," written by the book's four creators - Eli Horowitz, Kevin Moffett, Matthew Derby and Russell Quinn - and "Field Reports," written by any reader who wishes to write one. Field reports are accessible only from the location in which they were written, which gives the book a "Choose Your Own Adventure" feel.

The bulk of the book is the fascinating testimonials, which are told by a variety of witnesses to the epidemic. One mother wonders whether an antidepressant is to blame for her child's condition. A nanny struggles to charm her charge out of his bored silence while on a cruise, and in an especially well-written chapter, a man admits to pretending to have the condition as a child in order to get attention. One witness notes the desire by medical professionals and pharmaceutical companies to name the condition. "You give something a name," he says eerily, "and then it has power."

The reporter Nikole Hannah-Jones was working on a story about housing discrimination in Portland, Ore., when she began delving into laws on the matter. Her surprising research culminated in the investigative report "Living Apart," about George Romney's determined effort to end segregated housing while serving as secretary of Housing and Urban Development under President Nixon.

Romney, the former governor of Michigan, was intent on using his time at HUD to implement the 1968 Fair Housing Act, which was passed under President Johnson and contained a strangely worded clause about "affirmatively furthering" fair housing. Nixon's feelings about this part of the law were clear: "Stop this one," he wrote in a 1970 memo.

Hannah-Jones discovered that Romney lost his job over his well-meaning obsession with housing integration and that despite laws intended to halt funds to housing developments that do not "affirmatively further" fair housing, HUD has continued to financially support segregated housing over the past four decades. Hannah-Jones' work is a vital look into an area of government that has been sadly ignored and mismanaged.

Will Durst, the San Francisco political satirist, delivers much-needed comic relief at the end of a particularly exhausting presidential campaign with this collection of columns and other missives on our impending (and, Durst might say, irrelevant) decisions Tuesday. Durst takes us on a sharp-witted and warp-speed trip through everything from the financial meltdown to Weinergate and the Occupy movement, leaving us if not refreshed, then at least a little calmer about the four years ahead.

Take Durst's reaction to big banks (which he calls "money museums") wanting to charge customers $5 a month for routine debit purchases: "I get it," he tells the banks. "Your task is to find new ways to make more moolah. Same here. You just happen to be a whole lot better at it than the rest of us."